


A requirement for Comfort

by KangKorandKoloth



Series: Assorted Shunnao One Shots [5]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Massage, Romance, current arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KangKorandKoloth/pseuds/KangKorandKoloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gift for Mari93 </p><p>Nanao reflects on the war while trying to help Shunsui relax. Set in the current arc, spoilers up until chapter 520</p>
            </blockquote>





	A requirement for Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mari93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari93/gifts).



> A gift fic for Mari93 who asked me to write about Shunsui getting a massage from Nanao. I'm sorry it's taken as long to get out. Due to the current chapters I haven't been writing as much as I normally do as I've wanted to see how things panned out before uploading. I hope it was worth the wait :)

She doesn’t say a word. Instead looks up from her book, the same sentences read and reread as she’s awaited his return. Shunsi stands in the doorway. A weary figure; the weight of the world on handsome shoulders. Utterly bowed but not yet broken, she thinks with tentative relief.

The grey of his one remaining eye is ghostly; no longer alight with mirth, the spark of what makes him the man she adores hidden. Even in front of her this is a rare thing. Later, she asks him why and his refusal to elaborate infuriates and depresses in equal measure; Nanao knowing she would give anything to share that burden with him. Or, even better, to shoulder it completely and absolve him. 

He walks toward her and they meet in the middle; Nanao rising from her seat to find strong arms slung round her when she gets there. One on her shoulder the other at the back of her head, stroking through her hair, dry lips resting atop her forehead.

He wants to drink her in, she feels and he takes a deep breath and inhales; like one about to savour a fine wine. All the while he pulls her closer, as if to lock her away inside of him. To become her shield against the Quincy and the war that rages on outside. To keep her from all the evil they’ll bear witness to over the next nine days. The evil he’s been given a taster of but she will be unable to imagine until they’re really in trouble.

He smells of destruction. An odour of smoke and singe lingers in his hair, his hands chapped and cold from the wind and rain. Only a fraction better than the scent of blood that has been there less than two days previously, she thinks. His clothes hold the dust of plaster, giving her a hint at the chaos waiting just outside the quarters of the Captain Commander. Less than forty-eight hours later she will see it for herself, having to force down a sob as she sees what remains of her home. He will place his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly in reassurance, a silent promise that he will make this better, provided he makes it out alive. They will make it out alive, she decides.

Right now, it is her Captain, her love, who is in need and Nanao happy to oblige. She breaks away hearing a confused murmur, arms reluctantly letting go of her as she falls in behind him. Kimono and Haori should be gone, she decides and slides them away without a second thought, folding them over her arms and placing them down on the sofa. Dust covers an otherwise immaculate room. It will be dealt with later, once the important matters are attended to.

In any other reality, she would be a dutiful wife and with food and sake ready prepared for a husband home from nothing more than a long day at the office. The thought forces a smile from her, almost regretfully as she realises neither food nor alcohol await him, she had no idea when he would return after all. He has, however, in his own way had a long day at the office.

As the material falls away, he sighs and she smiles, hoping it’s made a difference. She rests her hands on his back and notices just how firm he feels to the touch. It’s more than the familiar tone of muscle and is driven from responsibility and worry. From where they find themselves.

She runs her hands along him, trying to guess the extent of the problem. The whole of him unbearably tense. It breaks her heart, if the truth was told. He almost trembles under her touch, shuddering as she passes by one of his few ticklish spots. He’s beginning to relax, she’s certain of it. The feeling of doing something right buoys her and she wants to do more, for once wanting to be the one taking care of him.

“Come”

Nanao takes his hand, the grasp weak and compliant compared to her steady certainty. As if he has no energy for anything else but responding to instruction. She leads him away, through the door to his bedroom, bathing the darkness in the candlelight from the main room, and he follows like a dog on a leash.

The bedroom is chaotic, basics dragged from the Eighth, the rest, relics of three hundred years of captaincy, left possibly never to be collected. His bed is unmade, suggesting he left in a rush that morning, sufficient for her purposes however and she indicates he should sit. He obeys almost on reflex and she lights the lamps, letting shadows dance across bare walls and high ceilings, the smell of wax permeating. The night has drawn in leaving the two of them ashen ghosts in a meagre twilight. She wants light, to be able to see him and what she was doing, to seal him in her memory lest her predictions of survival prove false.

She knows, this isn’t quite how either of them would want this. She can’t conjure up the atmosphere of nights past; the heady romance and soft mood he always insists upon when doing this to her. She can, however, give him her affection and her love. It is the thought that counts after all. 

He supports her to clamber on to the bed and kneel behind him. She sinks into the mattress the over soft surface skewing her balance. For a moment she’s scared she might fall into him but holds steady, letting go of a small knot of anxiety with a huff. Instead she settles for linking her hands around him, his heartbeat thudding through her fingers. It's a comforting sound and she lingers for longer than perhaps she should, taking the chance to thank her lucky stars that he has come back. After all they are at the beginning of a war. He falls back into her chest. She likes that, half of her wanting to ambush him with kisses and pull them back to lay together in a comfortable silence, as they always do after a long day. She doesn’t, for now that is not her purpose, her love requires comfort, different to the sort she desires.

Breaking the embrace she raises her hands to either side of his temples; fingers working in small circles. His breathing evens out into long sighs and she continues, switching direction as times goes on. His head rests heavily on her now, dark curls brushing against the opening of her kosode, tickling as he shifts to a more comfortable position.

He’s been neglecting himself she thinks; hair normally so lush and well maintained, tangled and dry, the five o’clock shadow thicker than normal. If she hadn’t thought he’d be asleep by the time she crosses the room, she’d have run a bath and undertaken those little tasks he seems to be incapable of right now. Hs appearance has always been important to him, she knows that. Despite her protests it doesn’t matter, she could at least help him to maintain that when he is unable to. There will be other times, she decides, when the battle is won for her to pamper him. She will worship the ground he walks on, provided they both come back. 

Part of her is desperate to ask where he’s been, half fearful of the answers but nevertheless hungering to know what brought about this change. The slip of the mask that’s left a pensive shell. She has no idea where to begin though. He’s no longer happy to talk, unlike a few days ago when he let slip about Zaraki and Unohana. She suspects he fears he’s told her too much already. That he’s concerned of her judgement of the situation and of his actions. Talking about work outside of the necessary has become taboo. She wants to tell him, she can’t judge. Not him, not what he has to do to get them out of this. In the heat of the moment there may be confusion and she may disagree with him but she can never judge. Not in the long run. She knows for a fact, she could do no better than he was doing. He was the best man for the job despite his frequent protests.

“You’re too good to me, you know that”

The words, soft and appreciative, break her away from her thoughts and bring her back to reality. They make her smile, knowing he’s over exaggerating as usual.

“Not at all, you need this”

“Nanao-chan is always so modest”

She knows it’s not modesty. More the intuition one only gains about another after being around them for so long. He would do the same for her, she thinks. Should God forbid the tables turn. It was the knowledge too, that he was struggling. Not just with the loss of Yamamoto, although of course that was a devastating blow to him. It ran deeper, to the loss of his home, the peril he saw for long term friends. Too much, too soon and all at once.

Still, he was doing well. She makes sure to tell him often, murmuring sweet praises about how wonderfully he’s coped and how proud she is of him. She prays he believes it, that it gives him some comfort throughout the day. She can never be sure though. For now he is a closed book and that worries her more than anything.

He hums in contentment. It’s music to her ears and she wishes to do more, feeling his breathing become deeper still, languid. Turning her attention to his neck, she works down sinews and taught skin, rubbing through stubble. But first, she frees his hair from its tie, pulling out the little red pinwheels and placing them on his bed side cabinet. Somewhere easy to find, when he wakes early the next day insisting he’s overslept and asking her to let the others know he’s on his way. She’ll wonder since when has he ever worried about oversleeping and feel her heart ache just a little more.

She pulls away, requiring another small compliance from him if she is to continue and tugs at the cloth of his kosode.

“Can you take this off?”

She doesn’t wait for a reply. Instead gives him time to complete this miniscule task and turns to the drawers at what she considers her side of the bed; opening and sifting through the small selection of items she keeps there. It doesn’t take her long to find it, a small terracotta phial, hidden amongst hair clips and nick-nacks. The opening is corked and it takes a fair amount of force to remove the stopper, eventually coming free with a hollow pop. Only then does she realise; he’s not moved a muscle. He’s exactly where she’s left him, staring down at his knees. For a moment she wonders why, opening her mouth to repeat her request when he catches her watching him. He offers her a defeated smile, 

“Can you? I think I'd like you to”

The confession warms her heart, how could she possibly refuse such a request?

“Of course, my darling”

She loosens the tie at his waist, aqua silks trailing through her fingers with ease. Material falls away with her coaxing and she directs him to lay on his front. He obeys as she shakes drops of oil across her palms and rubs them together, liquid laying slick against her skin. The scent of lavender and chamomile hangs in the air. Soothing smells she thinks, aromas he likes to ease the worn and weary. 

She presses hands against his back, beginning with some softer strokes and listens to a relieved murmur or two as she begins to increase the pressure. He begins to feel more like the man he was before. The man who does this to her, who tells her to relax, who she’s scolded and mithered about his laziness a million and one times before. Until now, how the tables have turned, she thinks with a sad smile.

“What would I do without you?”

If it hadn’t been for those words she would have thought he was asleep, his voice already low and sluggish; slowly giving in to what his body required. That quiet burr almost makes her jump, not that she shows it. He has enough to worry about without her adding to it. However small, he always worries about her.

She doesn’t speak, knowing the answer already. He would carry on until he is torn asunder by the weight of his woes, leaving a spectre of the man he is behind.

He probably doesn’t know it, but she and Ukitake have discussed what that's like. It was during a visit to the white haired captain during one of his bad spells.Shunsui leaving briefly for some errand or other leaving the two of them alone. She knows about the last time he was nearly broken by his worries and just what his oldest friend had to do to bring him back. She’s scared she doesn’t have the strength within her to do what others before her have done if the worst were to happen. She is not the man Captain Ukitake is. If left to her, he would flounder and fall. She lives in terror of it happening before her eyes. For Shunsui, prevention would be better than cure. She tries to prevent what she can.

Working lower she feels knots free themselves from his muscles with ease, his breathing the sign of a man at rest. She starts to relax, planning to finish her task and pull the blankets over him. To allow him solitude and sweet dreams. Firstly, she wants to be sure the work is done correctly though and continues to kneed and stroke until the correct attention has been paid.

It is then that she hears him again, as he drifts away from her

“Nanao-chan”

The mention of her name, rather than some endearment or other, makes her halt and she notes the change in tone; wondering about the sudden seriousness.

“Yes?”

“Can you promise me something?”

He knows she would promise him the world and stick by it, especially now. If it will give him the peace she craves for him. Despite this, he sounds almost pleading, as if whatever it is holds more importance to him than anything else that has gone before or will come to be. To her knowledge her never pleads, or at least never in any kind of seriousness.

“Anything”

“Don’t leave me”

She has no plans to, having thought that once he’s asleep she will deal with the dust and come rest by his side in a few hours. After, once again, playing at keeping house. She won't return to the quarters put aside for her when they moved, not that she’s been there much anyway.

“Not tonight, not if you don’t want me to”

She leans across him, bestowing a kiss on his neck, ignoring the smears of oil across her clothes. Clothes can be washed, his piece of mind may be fleeting if it not kept in check.

“That’s not what I mean”

She knows, deep down what he means, but doesn’t want to admit it. Any other time the idea would have been unthinkable for him and a dream come true for her. She knows he wants her there as they march to face Ywach head on. He wants her there to the bitter end, by his side and she knows she cannot deny him this. The idea doesn’t scare her as it should. Instead she feels overcome by calm. By his side is her rightful place, if she considers it properly. Despite everything else, she is his adjutant and in battle an adjutant should accompany her captain.

She takes the only action she can and nods in agreement.

“It's okay, I won’t leave you”

"Thank you"

She finishes with a few final strokes to his lower back and he finally topples over the abyss of sleep. She’s glad he’s at rest. He’ll need it, as there's so much more to come. He'll need the strength and the renewal that can only come with sleep. More importantly, she knows this time is precious while it lasts. Within hours they will march. The both of them together for the Gotei Thirteen and the world they strive to protect.


End file.
